Let the children play
by marypussycat79
Summary: Holmes is too busy with a case. Watson is tired of Holmes' moods. They got mad at each other after a bad discussion. Watson puts himself in a dangerous situation and fears for his life. Will Holmes find him before it is too late?
1. Chapter 1

**"Let the children play"**

Watson was reading the morning paper, trying to not notice the dark mood of his companion, who was pushing himself to exhaustion for he was working at a very complicated case but had not come to a conclusion yet. As usual, he had not slept or eaten properly since the case had started. When John joined him for breakfast that morning, he muttered something unintelligible to him and started to pace the room like a lion in a cage.

"Holmes, would you please sit down and eat something? Please?" the doctor asked him quietly.

"I don't need food, Watson! I need to think and right now I cannot do it. I need some stimulation!" he retorted, in an angry tone. He was wearing the same clothes of three days ago, and since then he had not shaved or had a bath, and as a result his aspect (and his smell) was not so good. He could had been mistaken for a homeless by who was not used to see him in such an altered state. Watson did not like his position at the moment, but he was a physician, after all, and he had to try, at least, to help him.

"I think that if you put something in your stomach, Holmes, then you'll think better." he added, hoping to ease his temper.

"I don't need you to tell me what do I have to do, Doctor. Keep your advices for your patients or, at least, eat your damned breakfast and leave me alone!"

Watson had had enough of Holmes' moods. He had lost that little patience he had left with the detective and, at his outburst, could not maintain his calm and steady approach. He took the newspaper and the toast he was eating from the tray and headed for the door of the living room.

"As you want, detective. But don't knock on my door when you will need my professional help, this time!" he stated, and slammed the door behind him. He consumed the rest of his breakfast in his bedroom. After a while, the anger he felt before for his mate started to fade away to be replaced by guilt. _Why should I feel guilty? He is the one who is incapable of feelings for other human being, why do I have to feel sorry for him? No no no, John, this time you'll just leave him alone, as he suggested!_. He resumed to read the newspaper: on the third page there was a short article about the disappearance of another child in London; the article said this was the fourth child to vanish, but since they were all orphans or children who had lived in the streets, there had been no official inquiry. He thought this was very sad, just because these little creatures did not had important surnames, no one had tried to search them.

He left Baker Street one hour later to go to his office, Holmes was already gone and did not tell him where, but he did not care. He spent the evening visiting patients, while in the afternoon he had a few home care assistance to attend. The last one was in a suburban quarter of London, far from the centre of the city. It took him a while to reach the place and since there were no cabs around, he asked to the diver to wait for him. Unluckily, the visit was longer than he expected, for the man was seriously ill and Watson had to assist him and then instruct his wife on how his husband would had been treated; when he had finished, the cab was gone. He waited for a while, but the area was desert and he supposed that people who lived there did not use cabs usually, so he started his long walk to home. It was late and surely Holmes would had wondered what happened to him, in the distant possibility that he had notices his absence.

The streets seemed all the same, and if not for his good and developed sense of directions, he would had got lost. The buildings were old and shabby looking, here and there he could see small lights inside them, but most of them were abandoned. _This is the perfect place to be mugged, or worse!_ he thought. The unnatural silence and the total absence of life, for he had not met a single man since he had started his walk, made him nervous. So when he heard a small cry coming from the old building on his right, he was not sure if he had heard it for real or it was only in his mind. He stopped and waited, but no more cries came from the inside and he decided to quicken his pace. But then his ears caught another small sound, shortly followed by heavy steps and a thud, other steps, heavier than before, as if someone was carrying a dead weight, maybe a person. Someone was in there, in danger, he did not think about it and went to search the main entrance of the building. It was an old structure with three floors, it was very imposing, with deep walls made of bricks; the main façade had many big and very tall windows with gratings on the outside, so it was impossible for him to enter this way, and a big wooden double door at its middle. Watson tried to open it but it was closed and too heavy for him. He resumed his walk and found, on the far corner, a smaller single door: this time he had to put just a little pressure on the old wood to broke the rusty mechanism of the lock. Luckily, the sky was clear that night and there was a beautiful full moon; between the moon and the lighting of the street, he was able to see, even if he did not have a lamp with him. Once inside, he was assaulted by a heavy stink of decay: the pavement was covered with bodies of dead animals, mostly birds and cats, feces and other disgusting remaining of once living creatures that he could not identify. He felt he was going to threw up and he quickly put his handkerchief upon his mouth and nose, to avoid the smell of death. The room was not too large, and he could see only the bare walls of it, for there was nothing in there, except for the corpses: it could had been a kind of waiting room. On the wall in front of him there was a door, he carefully opened it hoping the rest of the building was in better shape. He found himself in a larger room, with many windows that overlooked on the inner garden; there were tables and chairs covered with dust and dirt and a yellowish thin powder, coming from the ceiling where the color had gone away. The place seemed desert but he had the very strong feeling to be observed; his heart was pounding in his chest and his breath was labored. His thoughts went to Holmes, what if he had died in this place and no one had ever found his body? Nobody knew he was there, he had been crazy to go in the building alone in the night! _You're not making any good to anybody if you have a panic attack here, Jonh! Calm down!_ He took a deep breath and tried to think how Holmes would had behave in his situation. _Observe! Think!_ On the left wall, a slit led to a dark corridor with many doors; on the right one, trough another slit, there was a kind of portico, then a flight of stairs. He decided to remain in the light and ventured to the stairs. Each step of the doctor on the broken and dirty floor produced a small crack.

Watson made it to the stairs, feeling his courage had gone away the moment he entered the second room. He had left behind the only exit he knew of the building, his instinct screamed to come back with the police officers with the daylight to search for any sign of living person; that was the right thing to do. Again, he thought of Holmes and the way he left that morning, what if that would had been their last conversation? _This is not the place and the time, John, have a look around and come back home._ He was almost on top of the stairs when he saw another long corridor with windows on the side of the garden; from his elevated position, he understood the building had two twins garden, separated by a low channel.

Before going away, he stood in silence to detect any sound he could had missed but heard nothing. He was relieved. He would had returned home to Holmes and made sure he was alright, and he would had take care of him if he needed. He resumed his pace but stopped abruptly when he felt the coldness of a knife pointed at his throat and a sharp voice in his right ear.

"Don't try to move or to shout, or you'll be dead before you know it!"

Watson did not expected the attack, so he stayed still waiting for the man's next move. The knife was pressed painfully to his skin and he could not move, anyway. Then he felt a sudden thud when the man hit him with a heavy object at the base of his head, he felt himself falling and being lifted in strong arms, then passed out.

**It seems the poor doctor has put himself in a dangerous situation again, will Holmes be able to find him and rescue him in time?**

**The building I have described really exist, it is an abandoned mental hospital in my town. It is a really scaring place.**

**Please, review if you like it or if you don't, it's important for the development of the story.**


	2. Chapter 2

When he awoke, his thoughts were confused. The word was completely dark and he felt light-headed; he panicked at the idea of being blind, then realized he had been blindfolded, because his skin itched for the rough fabric of the material that was put on his eyes; his head was hurting with a sharp pain in rhythm with the pounding of his bloody pressure and there was something sticky on his neck, that soaked his shirt. He tried to move but the movement made him dizzy and he stayed still, waiting for the sickness to pass. He became aware of an unpleasant sensation of constriction: his hands were bound painfully tight behind his back with ropes and other ropes around his chest and upper arms hold him securely in place on an uncomfortable chair. It was difficult to breath. The room he was in was silent and cold. Not being able to see, it was difficult for Watson to understand how much time had passed after he had been captured or deduce from some details the possible location of the place. He shivered at the idea of being alone in the hands of a mad man. _If only Holmes knew!_ But he did not. Fear was a feeling he had experienced before, he was a soldier and he was trained to deal with it. But this time it was so very different, this time there were no enemies to fight, he was alone in a dark place, blindfolded and bounded to a chair. Nobody knew where he was because he had been so fool to go alone in a empty building at night. He fought the urge to cry and tried to calm down, and waited in the dark, for minutes or hours he did not know. Time was a concept he could not comprehend now.

At some point, Watson felt someone moving around him. He tensed as the man approached the chair and started to caressed his skin, he shivered when the hand cupped his chin and caressed his hair.

"Oh come on, don't be frightened, my dear boy! I'm here now, you're not alone!" the voice said in a mellow tone.

Watson did not answered anything. He simply stood there, holding his breath.

"You don't feel like talking, my dear? We will have plenty of time to know each other, don't worry about it!"

The man stood up, finally getting his hands off of him. The doctor was glad for it. He knew he had to say something, but what? The man was delusional.

"Where are you?" he managed to say, his voice shaky and quite hoarse.

He heard something being dragged on the floor, then placed in front of him. It was a chair. The man took place in it and lean over, to rest rough hands on his knees. Watson made a supreme effort to not scream, his breath heavy and his heart pounding fiercely.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"I want you to be my friend and to join our family" the man replied in a childish tone.

"Family? What are you talking about?"

"You'll see. Soon. Don't worry, I will take care of you!"

Watson felt tears in his eyes, this man was insane. _Holmes, where are you? _

Then the voice spoke again.

"Do you want me to make you more comfortable? I bet this ropes are quite tight, aren't they?"

The doctor thought this was the right occasion to gain the man's trust and trying to escape.

"Yes, please!"

"Alright, _old boy_!"

_Old Boy _was one of the nicknames Holmes was used to call him. That hurt more than the ropes that were restricting him. Watson bowed his head and let tears fall freely on his face; he waited in silence trying hard to think about a way to get out of his dark prison, but in his actual state it was impossible. The blindfold prevented him to have a look around and with his hands still bound behind his back he was totally vulnerable. He would had to convince the man to release his hands at least. But he did not agree, of course. He actually cut the ropes that hold him firmly to the chair, so the doctor was able to breath, at least, then helped him to stand, holding him with big strong hands under his armpits, like a child, because when he was on his feet he could not feel his legs and would had fallen face down on the floor. As soon as the circulation returned in his limbs, he found impossible to move: the man was rocking him gently, still holding him in a kind of embrace, forced his head to rest on his chest. Watson was terrified. He could not fight, for his enemy was huge, he deduced it from the very big hands that hold him and because his head still rested on his broad chest, so he must be very tall. He tried not to disappoint him and hold his breath, hoping to be released soon because he felt disgusted by him. At some point, the man asked if he wanted to dance. The doctor could not answer, and found himself practically swept all around the room in a kind of romantic ball. More tears were wetting his face, his thought went again to Holmes. _Please, you have to find me soon!_ It seemed the dance moment last forever, and between the pounding ache in his head and the weakness of his body, he felt himself growing sick.

"I see you are tired, my boy. I will let you rest for a while!"

Watson was dropped in the chair again. He heard his captor moving in the room, but he could not understand what was he doing. He waited for several long minutes before speaking again.

"Are you still here?"

A sudden movement behind his back told him the answer to his question was positive.

"Why do you want me to stay?" he asked then, since he had gotten no response.

Again, his question was not answered. The doctor was trying to make the man talk, since this was his only way to know if he had some hope to be saved or not. What if the psycho had disappeared leaving him bound and blindfolded? He did not want to think about it, he knew Holmes would had found him some way, it was just a matter of time. And time was the one thing he could not calculate right now. His word was silent and dark.

"Talk to me, please!" he repeated. "I'm scared!". He thought his captor, who had been so kind to him before, should had been touched by this argument, and he was right, for after a short time he heard movement and the man sat in the chair in front of him again.

"I know how do you feel. I don't want to hurt you. I am so lonely, I just want you to be my friend and stay with me!" the man said in a small voice.

Encouraged by the progress, Watson tried to force the situation.

"Friends trust each other. Why don't you remove the blindfold from my eyes so we can see each other? Please?" and he hold his breath, waiting for the man's next move.

It took him a while, but then he sighed and replied that he could not, because his brother had told him it was dangerous.

"Once, I let one of my little friends free, he was crying and I was so sorry for him. When my brother discovered it, he hurt me and then went after the boy, he found him and killed him. It was terrible, terrible, I can't let him kill you, do you understand?"

Watson shivered at the idea and forced himself to remain calm. His mind registered the information and understood how fool he had been: he had accidentally found the man who kidnapped the children, or at least his brother. But what about the little boys? Did the man's brother killed them all, or they were alive, somewhere, like him? He had to know, at least he had to try to help them. He thought he could have some other information from his captor, who seemed someway caring or capable of human feelings.

"What happened to your other friends? Are they still here with you?"

"Do you want to meet them? Yes, they are here, I think one of them is quite ill, but the others are just fine!"

Instinct screaming, he could not avoid to express his worries for the ill boy. "I am a doctor, I can help him if you want him to be better. If you could only release me…"

The man laughed. Watson felt he had done a wrong move, for his tone changed from childish to sharp.

"So, you think I will release you, and then you can easily escape, right?" he laughed again, then put his hands on the doctor's knees again. "Why did you have to ruin our friendship? I am very displeased! You know, I like you very much, I cannot let you leave." he murmured in my ear, resuming his childish voice.

Then his hand moved up to his tight. Watson froze, hoping the man would not go any further. When he felt his hands unfastening his trousers and probing his most delicate area, actually probing his groin and squeezing his penis, he was almost hyperventilating. With his free leg he hit the man's chin hard, making him fall backwards. Unable to see where his captor was, he waited for him to attack him, hoping to be able to fight him. He stood up from the chair, trying to detect any movement around him. He heard a muffled cry, then a booming voice that made him startle.

"You hurt my brother, you have to pay for it!"

That was the voice he heard the night before, the man who kidnapped him. Watson tried to move in the dark when the man hit him hard on his back with a pipe, luckily missing his right arm. He doubled over in pain hitting the floor hard with the still aching head; the man kicked him in the back, in his stomach, in his upper chest, just everywhere, until a final blow made him unconscious.

When he next return to the land of the living, his body ached all over. It took him a while to understand where he was. The blindfold had not gone and he had been gagged. His hands were free. He tried to move but something heavy and cold prevented the motion. He was weak and dehydrated. He tried to remain conscious but failed in the task. He was vaguely aware of someone helping him to drink some water and holding him, offering words of comfort. He tried to speak but the gag had been already replaced in his mouth, and he let out muffled cries. He did not know how much time had passed after his capture, days maybe. His last hope was Holmes. He had to hold on, for he was sure Holmes would had come to rescue him.

Five days after Watson's disappearance, twelve police officers, guided by Lestrade and a highly distraught Holmes, burst into the old building. There was no sign of the two mad men, but they found three little boys and an injured, badly beaten, half starved Doctor Watson in small cells. Lestrade gave orders to his officers to take care of the children, then went with the detective in the cell where the doctor laid. What they saw was something they would had never forget. He laid on a small thin mattress, with his back to the door. He had been gagged and blindfolded. His ankle was trapped in a ring fixed to a chain to the wall. His breath was shallow and he seemed unconscious.

Holmes approached him, making a great effort in order to remain calm and rational. He knelt down beside him and gently rolled him on his back. Watson winced at the motion. He instructed Lestrade and his men to move away their lamps, for he was going to remove the blindfold over his eyes. He murmured words of comfort to his fallen companion, and hold him close. Watson tensed at the gesture and tried to escape, muttering unintelligible words on the gag.

"Easy, Watson, easy. It's me. It's Holmes." He said in a shaky voice. "I am going to remove the blindfold, alright? Don't fight me."

Watson stilled and waited until Holmes had finished, he did not fight him when he carefully remove the gag from his mouth and tossed it aside. He opened his eyes slowly and waited until he could see only shadows around him. He tried to speak but words did not come out; he felt his head being slightly elevated and water being forced into his mouth. He coughed and spat it out.

"No, Watson, don't spit it out. Come on, easy this time!" the detective instructed.

Watson let the cool water easing his discomfort and tried to have a look around. Holmes understood and gave him the information. Lestrade released the doctor's ankle from the chain and left them alone.

"I am so sorry, Watson, I thought I had lost you!"

The doctor wanted to reply but found he had not enough strength to do it. He lifted a weak hand to caress the detective's face and smiled.

"So you are not a dream…" he whispered.

Holmes took Watson's hand in his and gently hold it. He gave a weak squeeze in return. He was fighting to stay awake but he was not having much success. His eyelids were heavy and he was so tired.

"Hold on, John, you'll be out of here in no time."

Darkness enveloped him before he could answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Watson did not wake up during the journey home. Before leaving the building where ha had been kidnapped and trapped, Lestrade had a quick talking with Holmes and informed the detective they had not found the men who held him; they both understood it was better to take the doctor at home, where he could be safe, instead of taking him to a hospital and assigned two police officers on guard at their apartment, night and day. The inspector underlined the necessity to know what he could tell them. They agreed to wait for a couple of days, so to leave the poor man rest and recover a little, before forcing him to relive the ordeal he went through. Holmes was relieved to have his friend alive and with him again, but he was sure this time the recovery would had been painful, most psychologically than physically, for he had never seen him in such a state. Once they arrived home, he instructed Mrs. Hudson to call a physician, then arranged things for Watson to use his own bedroom and between him and Lestrade, they took him upstairs and settled him gently in the bed. He did not stir when Holmes and the land lady removed his clothes and wore him in fresh and clean ones; they also washed him a little, careful to not cause him any pain: at the end of their work, it seemed Watson was already getting better.

The doctor arrived after a while, checked on him and then went downstairs in the living room where an exhausted detective and a highly worried lady were waiting for him. He informed them, in a very cold and professional mood, that "the patient was all considering lucky, he had not suffered major trauma, except for a concussion to his head; it seemed he had not been able to eat or to drink in the last days" and then went silent.

"That's all you have to say, _doctor_?" Holmes snapped at him.

"He's a lucky man, it could have been much worse. I'll leave instructions for his treatments for the next few days, until he gets better then I think he will take care of himself on his own. Until then, make sure he gets fluids and rest. If he feels up to it, you can give him something light to eat. I gave him a pretty high dose of morphine, so he will sleep comfortably for some hours: I expect him to wake up in 5-6 hours. If you want, I can come back tomorrow to see how he is doing." He looked uncertain at the detective, who seemed far from normality himself, and added that he could give him something to help him sleep if he wanted. The physician was relieved to hear that he did not need anything. "But thank you, doctor! I am sorry if I was rude before, I am just concerned about my friend!"

"No need to apologize, Mr. Homes!" and then he left.

Mrs. Hudson took the physician to the door, then offered the detective to stay with Watson, so he could get some rest too. But he obviously refused the offer. "I want to be with him when he wakes up."

He entered the silent room, there was a soft light and a warm temperature. Watson was lying on his back under many covers; the physician had done a good job, cleaning his wounds and putting a soft bandage on the bump of his head. His face was pale but relaxed and his breath was soft. Holmes carefully sat on the edge of the bed and kissed his brow. "Sleep, now, _my boy_!" he said, then took place on the chair next to the bed, holding his hand with his, watching him breathing and smiling to himself that he was safe now, that everything was alright. He eventually fell asleep at some point, with his head resting on crossed arms on the bed, the doctor's right hand still in his.

* * *

><p>When Watson succeeded in the hard task of opening his eyes, his gaze met a familiar sight. He was tired but not in pain. He tried to get up but found he cannot move his right arm, because Holmes was sleeping on it. Memory returned to him, things he would had willingly forgotten: being blindfolded, bound with ropes, and the two men, the beating and last the worried face of his friend, who had come to rescue him. He shivered and took a deep breath to calm himself, but was unable to block out the sensation of being restricted. He started to panic and let out a cry. Holmes heard him and, instantly awake, tried to comfort him offering caring words and caressing him, but that seemed to make the doctor just more agitated.<p>

"Please, stop!" he was repeating, between muffled cries "Let me go! Let me go!".

Holmes was shocked at his words, then he understood that he was not talking to him personally, but was reliving his ordeal, so he immediately released him. That seemed the right move, for after a few minutes Watson was calmer. Holmes offered him a glass of water, that he accepted. They stood in silence for long minutes, then the doctor turned his red face to his friend, his voice soft and unsteady, his breath still a little labored.

"I am sorry if I scared you! I was not mad at you, you know! I wake up and could not move… I panicked… For a moment I thought I was back there…" He was trying hard to calm himself, to take his breath under control and mostly not to show how scared he was; he could feel Holmes' worried gaze on him and he knew he was only trying to help. He forced himself to hold his hand, to prove him that he was grateful for his rescue, and he really was. He just could not stand physical contact now.

Holmes was relieved by his gesture, and squeezed his hand in reply. A little smile touched Watson's face and he felt as a heavy burden had been removed from his shoulder.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

"Not like before. I suppose I had been given some powerful dose of good drugs."

"The doctor wanted you to get some good sleep."

"What about you?"

"I am fine. It is you I am concerned about!"

Watson yawned, feeling suddenly tired. Holmes smiled to him.

"Get some sleep, we can talk later."

"Would you do… something for me?" the doctor asked him in a small voice.

"You just have to ask. What is it?" he replied.

"Get some decent sleep… I won't go anywhere… please?"

"Alright. I'll see if Mrs. Hudson can stay with you."

That accomplished, he made sure his friend was asleep and left the room. God knows he needs sleep as much as him, after the last days. He knew he could not go very far without food or sleep and since Watson, even if in pain and emotionally hurting, had insisted, he accepted his advice without a word of complaint. He made himself comfortable on the couch and he was softly snoring in a few minutes.

* * *

><p>Ten hours later, a rested Holmes cautiously ventured to his bedroom to see his friend. He was still deeply asleep. Mrs. Hudson left the room and, once in the sitting room, so to not wake up the man, informed him that he woke up after 4 or 5 hours since she had been with him, he actually talked a little and ate something.<p>

"He did not admit it, but I thought he was in pain, and you were not available for you need to sleep too after these horrible days, I'm sorry Mr. Holmes if I did not wake you but…" the land lady cried out in a rush of words. The detective did not understand what she was speaking about, he tried not to sound too annoyed and gently stopped the woman in her speech and invited her to explain him better what had happened. She sighed and sat on the couch.

"Well, it was almost midday. The doctor stirred and woke up on his own. I offered him a glass of water, he was kind as usual!" she explained, adding trivial details to her report, that Holmes did not appreciate. "I asked him if he was up to eat a little something, he was, so I helped him to have some broth. Then I asked him if he needed something else, he said no, but I noticed he was in pain, I read it in his face. He did not want to make me worry, I guess, but I thought it was better to call the doctor again. I would had come to tell you, but you were asleep." She looked directly at Holmes now and he encouraged her to go on.

"Please, go on Mrs. Hudson. What happened then?"

"I offered him to call the doctor then, but he asked for you and I told him you were asleep on the couch. So he said it was alright for me to make the call."

"Did he say something? Was he hurting?"

"He just said he could use some good medicine after all. I hope you're not upset with me, I was only trying to help!"

"Don't worry, I am not upset with you. You did the right thing!"

The poor lady was confused and happy at the same time at his words and she actually hugged the detective, who stilled on her act of gratitude and relief, before asking her the final question. Women were always too emotional, it was difficult for his rational mind to approach them when he needed information. They always tent to enrich the truth with irrelevant details.

After this moment of confusion, she assured him that the doctor went and gave his colleague some pain killer and that he was fast asleep when she re-enter the room. He was expected to wake up again in a few hours. Holmes thanked the lady for his help then went to sit near his friend.

He had plenty of time to think about the whole situation. He was sure Watson had accidentally discovered or seen something he should not had. He was almost sure the good doctor had been kidnapped by the man the police was searching all around London in that days after the disappearance of four children. Watson had read the article on the newspaper himself the last morning before disappearing, when he had been so fool to argue with him. As usual, his friend was right and he was trying to help him but he, the great detective with brilliant mind and highly developed deductive skills, again, had poured out his frustrations on him instead of taking his wise advices. No wonder he had left him slamming the door. He had been really impossible. Maybe, If he had behaved differently, now they would had had tea together as usual in their sitting room. He forced himself not to fall in the easy play of self-recrimination and to stay focus on the present: now he had to keep the poor man safe at first, then he had to talk to Lestrade to see if they had located the psycho (that he doubted) but first they would had to ask the doctor to tell them what happened to him for he may knew some information. The last part was the most difficult, Watson was not ready for this but they cannot wait any longer; he was determined to give him at least another day of rest and he was ready to argue with the Inspector if he did not agree.

When the doctor tried to shift in bed, without success, and winced for the many bruises on his battered body, Holmes squeezed his hand in sympathy. Again, Watson became more agitated and tried to free his hand and to fight the demons he was facing in his dreams, flailing in the bed. The detective wanted to make sure he would not hurt himself but he knew, at the same time, his friend would had grown uncomfortable being restricted, so he let go of his hand and verbally comforted him, reminding him who he was and that he was safe. It took him a while but finally he was awake. It seemed he recognized Holmes and his surroundings, but did not felt like talking, so, after having accepted a glass of water from his mate, he simply turn his head on the pillow so not to face him. His thoughts were still confused but it was better than before; surely, he would have liked to be alone, but Holmes would had taken it bad, so he tried to ignore him. If sleeping was difficult, because he kept reliving his ordeal again and again in his dreams, when he was awake the look of genuine concern on Holmes face made him feel anguished: he wanted desperately to be hold and comforted by him, the only person whom he really love in this world; on the other side, being touched and caressed reminded him of the psycho that nearly killed him. Maybe the sensation was going to fade with time, but right now it was really hard for him. Luckily or not, he was fast asleep.

* * *

><p>The next time he awoke Holmes was kind as usual. He did not touch him and Watson was more relaxed with him this time. He asked him to play something on his violin for him and was contented. He was really feeling better for the first time since he was rescued, the music and the familiar surroundings made him feel safe. There was just one thing he had (on purpose?) forgotten but that he knew, in the corner of his mind: sooner or later he would had been asked to talk to Lestrade about his "experience", or it was more reasonable that the Inspector himself would had come to him in his safe nest. He did not want to talk about it, to reveal the details, and he shivered at the idea. Holmes noticed it and came closer to him, looking uncertain on what to do.<p>

"Is there something wrong, Watson?" he asked softly.

"Just a bad thought".

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, thank you Holmes, but… I appreciate it!"

_Sooner or later you'll have to say it, John, the sooner the better! _That was the voice of his conscience, the reasonable voice the good doctor did not want to hear. _If you let him in, he will understand. You can trust him._ But he did not want to. He fought the battle but at the end he lose.

It took him a few minutes to gather the strength to speak. The detective was silently watching him. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady.

"Holmes… I-I have to say something to you… It is not easy for me, so please, don't interrupt me or I won't have the strength to do it a second time…"

He nodded and waited. Watson's face was a mask of shyness, fear and anguish, but in his eyes there was also resolution and strong will. He was a survivor. Holmes admired him. He listened every word his friend forced out of his mouth, bite back tears when he described him the most dreadful details of his entrapment and withstanded the need of comforting him when he cried out and lost control of his emotions. When it seemed he had finished his talk, he comforted him verbally, for he had finally understood the reason for he was so afraid of physical contact with him.

"D-do you know… what was the worst part of it?"

Of course Holmes did not know.

"He called me _Old boy_!"

"Oh God, Watson, I am so sorry…"

"Don't say it, Holmes, don't say it was your fault because… it was not!"

"But it's true… If I had not been rude with you that morning…"

Watson covered his eyes with trembling hands, stood in silence for some minutes then, to Holmes' surprise, he held out his right hand to place it on the detective's one. Holmes stilled.

"I know this is hard for you too, Sherlock! I just want you to know I am not afraid of you or your touch, I just need time" he finally stated. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he looked at his best friend and this time he allowed him to hold him, until he had no more cries. He was exhausted and fell asleep in Holmes' arms.

The detective gently laid him down on the pillow and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Thank you, John!"

He did not want to leave him, but he had to talk to Lestrade to say him it was not necessary to him to come personally for Watson's statement. And to arrange other details. Once again, Mrs. Hudson was happy to help.

Now Holmes' priority was to find the men who kidnapped his favorite doctor.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Let the children play (4)**

Holmes found that Lestrade had not gone very far in the inquiry about Watson's kidnapping. His men had not found anything on the scene and they were at a dead point. Although he had been expecting it, he could not avoid to scold the Inspector. His best friend was in danger and those who are called police officers were just too busy with other minor affairs. Did not they understand that if the men who nearly killed the doctor were still free, they could had taken revenge on him? He was recovering but he surely could not fight them if they had found him.

"I really hope you are going to do something now, I am going to make certain this case is taken in the right consideration!" he pointed out in an angry and sharp tone.

"I assure you, Mr. Holmes. My men searched everywhere to find something, but there was nothing. We have already taken the statements from the children, but they did not see anything. They were lured with the promise of food and a warm place to live, but they could not describe the man for they had been blindfolded too. But I made some research about the property of the building, if you want to know?" the Inspector asked, hoping the detective would be at least collaborative.

"What kind of question is it? Of course I want to know!" Holmes answered him, still highly irritated by the shallowness of the officer.

"Alright! So the building where the doctor was found was an old orphanage, it was used until 40 years ago. Then they closed it to transfer all the children in another structure. It seemed the first location was not too good, for it was a very old building, already old when they moved in, but they choose it because it was less expensive than a new one. Anyway, they soon understood it was difficult to combine the needs of the institution with the old facility. As soon as they could effort it, they moved in a new one but it took them 50 years."

"I am not interested in a history lesson, Lestrade, can you just go straight to the point?"

The Inspector thought that if he were in Holmes' shoes, he would be nervous too, so he did not argue with him and resumes his talk.

"The point is that the building had been closed but since then there had always been people inside it, homeless mostly. Since the place is still property of the orphanage and they did not say anything about it, and basically those people had never caused problems, there was no need for the police to control it."

"So you're saying that, if you were more alert, you could have saved Watson some days of suffering in the hands of a psycho?" Holmes was furious, he would had willingly made the fool taste the "medicine" his friend had endured for four days.

"Look, Mr. Holmes, I know you won't believe me, but we made all in our possibility to find him!"

"I am not here to hear excuses from you, I am here to inform you about what Watson told me about his kidnapping, that is very little considering he was blindfolded all the time. And then I want to come back to the building, to see if there is something your men had missed, but I need you or a couple of your officers to come with me, in case the man would decide to return. In the meanwhile, can I suggest you to make a research about the personnel who worked in the orphanage? Watson said one of the two man was huge, it should not be difficult to find him in this case. Send someone to the new structure, do your work as you should know it, for Heaven's sake! Now, do you want to write down his deposition or do I have to wait all day?"

"I should go and listen it from him personally, Mr. Holmes. This is quite a unofficial procedure!"

"You would not want him to relive his ordeal for a second time, do you Lestrade? It had been hell for him to tell once, I won't let you hurt him only for you procedural worries!"

The inspector understood this was a battle he would never win, so he let the matter drop. Once the statement had been written, he assigned two officers to accompany the detective to site inspect the abandoned orphanage. They could not find anything useful for the inquiry. Holmes visited every room of every floor, but except from the cells where the boys and the doctor had been taken, there were no sign of the mad men.

He had been away from Baker Street from 12 hours now. He felt the urge to come back home to Watson, for the poor man would had been worried about him now and his last intention was to hurt him, especially in his psychological condition. Luckily he did not know his plans. Holmes had also asked his brother Mycroft to come to their apartment to stay with the doctor, for good measure, and he hoped his presence had not upset his friend.

Holmes was sure he had missed something obvious, but could not get it. So he spent another little time visiting the small rooms on the second floor and suddenly understood: this floor was lower than the others so there should had been another hidden level they had not found yet. Then he remembered something and hurried at the end of the corridor, entered the last room that was way too narrow than the others and there he found, half hidden by dirt and some old and crashed furniture, a small door that led to a stairway. He instructed the two officers to stay on guard and to follow him closely, then cautiously went upstairs.

There they found a low corridor with three rooms on the left and three on the right, with a small window each of them. One was an old archive, it was full of boxes of yellowish sheets with a label on each one, neatly placed on wooden shelves: there was a huge scent of mold. The other ones were empty and quite shabby. The last one was clearly the safe nest of the psycho, for there were remaining of food and clothes, a mattress and some covers; but what shocked them was that the wall was covered with drawings of children and in the center a beautiful portrait of Watson. Holmes angrily took it away and carefully folded it, placing it in his coat. After having memorized the details of the room in his mind, he informed the two men they had finished their job, so they could leave. Once back to the police station, he asked the Inspector to come to his apartment the following day, so to discuss the case with the new information they got and to decide how to proceed.

* * *

><p>When he arrived home, it was dark. Luckily, he did not meet Mrs. Hudson. He was not in the mood to argue with the land lady. He supposed Watson was asleep in his bedroom so he entered the sitting room with a bold step and was surprised to see him awake on the couch. Both him and Mycroft, who was sitting in the armchair, were startled by his entrance. Mycroft jumped on his feet, while the doctor tried to get up but his weak body refused to cooperate and he slumped back on the couch with a moan. Holmes hurried at his side, ignoring the stern look on his brother's face.<p>

"Watson, what are you doing up?" he asked worriedly. The doctor was pale and looked tired.

"I am not up, Holmes! What took you so long? We were worried about you!" he answered and his voice reflected his fatigue and pain.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to stay away for so long. Are you in pain?"

"A little, but I can manage. You did not answer my question, anyway!"

Holmes decided it was not time to inform his friend about the discovery of his portrait in the psycho's nest, so he opted for a half truth.

"I was at the police station, I had a long talk with Lestrade."

It seemed the answer did not satisfy Watson at all, but he did not investigate more on the subject.

"Did he find the men who held me?"

"No, I am sorry. But we are working on it, don't worry about it!"

The doctor stood in silence for some minutes, both Mycroft and Sherlock held their breath until his soft voice spoke again.

"Would you help me up and to bed, Holmes? I am really tired and I need to rest."

"Of course, my dear. Hold on me and let me do all the work here, alright?" Once he was sit on the couch, he slid his left arm on Watson's waist and push the doctor's right arm on his shoulder, then helped him to stand up. He swayed for a moment but then he walked slowly but easily to the bedroom. Holmes made sure he was comfortable and sat on the chair next to the bed. Watson was losing his battle to stay awake, but before sleep claimed him once again, he clasped the detective's hand in his cold one and squeeze it as hard as he could and looked him in the eyes.

"I am not in the position to tell you what to do and what not to do… Just promise me you'll be careful… 'cause I don't want to lose you!" he whispered.

Holmes swallowed hard and squeezed Watson's hand in return.

"I promise!"

"Good. I think I scared you brother today… he wanted to help me to get up… just like you did, but … I don't know why, I panicked… It took me a while to calm down… Please, tell him I am sorry!"

"I will. I guess if I ask you not to push yourself too hard you won't take my advice, don't you?"

"I'll do as Doctor Holmes suggests…" he half yawned. "Sorry, I can't keep my eyes open…"

"Then get some sleep. If you need me I will be in the sitting room with my brother, so just call my name and I will be here in no time."

"Thank you…"

The doctor was fast asleep. Holmes left the room and went to face his brother. He informed him about his discoveries and asked him to come back tomorrow, for Watson needed protection while he was busy with Lestrade. Once he left, he re-entered the bedroom and prepared himself for another vigil night.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 5... **


	5. Chapter 5

**Let the children play (5)**

The fourth morning of his recovery, Watson felt much better. His back did not hurt as before, especially where the man had hit him with the pipe, the general fatigue he had experienced the past days had left his limbs and he felt rested. He decided it was time to get up and slowly get dressed and went to the sitting room. Holmes was downstairs in the living room of the Land-lady, busy with Lestrade and other officers; he could hear their voices but he could not understand what they were saying. He was not worried about it, for after what he had been through he was more than happy, actually relieved, if Holmes had chosen to not involve him in the "case". He had expected Mycroft to be in the armchair near the fireplace, he had become his shadow since Holmes had decided to play an active part in the inquiry, but he wasn't there. He sat on the couch and enjoyed the sensation of being up and around; after a while, his stomach gurgled and he thought about calling Mrs. Hudson to ask her something to eat when the door magically opened and the dear lady appeared with a tray full of his favourite foods. She was a little surprised to see him awake and around.

"It's good to see you up, Doctor! You regained some colour, finally. If you are hungry I made you some breakfast…" she said, displaying a warm smile to him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I feel I can eat an elephant, right now!" and to underline the concept, his stomach gurgled again loudly.

"Well, the doctor said you should be careful, even if you are hungry…"

Watson sighed. He knew what his colleague meant, having not eaten nor had anything to drink for four days, he should had been more careful not to overload his system. Sometimes he wished he had not been a doctor, while the knowledge of the human body was useful for helping others, he loathed when the knowledge was turned on him. He had much rather remain in blissful ignorance.

"Is Holmes downstairs?" he asked to the lady, who was still in the room watching him eating.

"Yes, he and his brother and the Inspector."

"So, it is kind of a reunion of brains, isn't it?" the doctor asked, smiling at her.

"I think so." she answered, smiling too. "It's good to see you're back, dear! I'll come back later when you're finished for the tray. Do you need anything else? Maybe I could refresh your room, now that you're here?"

"If you don't mind, I think it's a good idea. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

She left the room.

* * *

><p>Watson ate his breakfast in silence pondering the idea of joining the three men waiting downstairs. If his instincts of a doctor and man of action were telling him it was the right thing to do, his conscience seemed to have other ideas. He hoped that maybe his absence would go unnoticed. The simple act of thinking that he would be involved in the inquiry of his kidnapping made him nervous. He could feel his heart pounding erratically in his chest, his breath coming in heavy strained gasps. He was afraid that in front of the other men his resolve on his emotions would finally break. In the back of his mind he knew that his reaction would be perfectly understandable as well as justifiable, he'd seen enough trauma victims to know that this was not a sign of weakness but an appropriate response, and yet, he still couldn't convince himself that it was okay for him to feel that way. In an attempt to calm himself, he tried his best to block out the painful flashes of memories from the past few days and instead willed himself to focus solely on the sound of his own breathing.<p>

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Holmes had planned to go to the new orphanage with Lestrade, to question the staff.<p>

Besides, the inspector had assigned two guards on duty day and night at the old one with the order of checking if anyone entered the building, hoping they could maintain a discreet anonymity without making the psychos understand they were waiting for them. If they had shown up, they had had to notify Holmes and Lestrade immediately. Mycroft volunteered himself to stay with the doctor, just in case.

When they arrived to the new structure, they were welcomed by one of the attendants on duty and directed to the chief administrator's office. The woman, about sixty years old, with green eyes and narrow glasses, grey hair comb in an elegant bun, dressed in a dark blue suit was not so happy to talk to them but answered all their questions.

"I really do think you are searching in the wrong place!" she stated, and crossed her arms to mean she had nothing more to say.

Holmes was getting nervous, Lestrade noticed it and put a hand on his arm in order to calm him.

"If you don't mind, Madame, we would like to talk to the older attendants, especially those ones who had worked in the orphanage before you moved in the new structure. Can you tell us how many of them are still working?"

"Not so many, but if I remember right, you must talk to Jack. He knows everything about the structure and was attached to the old building. He will be happy to talk to you. If you want, I can take you to him. He is in the west wing now, with the little children."

Holmes seemed satisfied. He hoped the man could tell them something useful to identify the monsters.

Jack, as the chief administrator had predicted, was happy to talk about the past days of the institution. Unfortunately, while the detective tried to ask him pointed question, his answers were often vague and he had the unnerving inclination of wander about the subject. At the end of their talk, Holmes knew nothing more than when they arrived that morning. The trip to the orphanage had been useless. His frustration was visible: he felt as he had failed Watson.

Jack was taking them to the exit when Holmes noticed something familiar in a room, he came back and gave a closer look to a drawing attached on the wall of what seemed a kind of art room. He took out of his coat the portrait of his friend he found in the building where the doctor had been found and confronted the characteristics of the two. It seemed they were made by the same hand.

"Jack, do you know who made this drawing?" he asked the man.

"Of course, it was one of my children, Virgil Kane. I mean, when we were in the old structure. He was a good boy but very shy. He did not have any friends, he was always alone. It was a pity to see him always so sad. At some point it seemed he had lost contact with reality. I tried to help him but it was too late..."

"So his name is Virgil Kane. How old is he? Do you know where he lives now?" Holmes spluttered out in a rush.

"He left the orphanage at 16. He should be in his fifty's now. I have never seen him once he was out. It is difficult for us to maintain contact with all the children that leave us. I remember another boy, he was so little and..."

"Can you describe the boy who made this picture?" the detective interrupted the attendant sharply.

"Of course! He was blond, with big blue eyes and freckles around the nose and the eyes. He had always been very tall for his age. When he left, he was taller than me and you."

"What about the drawings?"

"That was his way to communicate. And he was very good at that."

"And you said he was alone and he did not have friends."

"Yes, detective, as I said before it was a pity for us to see him talking to himself, pretending to be speaking to an imaginary friend. I guess life had been too cruel for him, he lost his mind."

"Thank you very much, Jack. You helped us a lot." Holmes cut short and left the old man, with the Inspector on his heels.

* * *

><p>Once in the cab that was taking them back to Baker Street, Holmes explained the inspector that they were searching a very tall man, with a disturbed mind, who had lost contact with reality, whose name was Virgil Kane.<p>

"We need to come back and to protect Watson. This man wants him because he considers him a friend, probably his only friend. He will come back to take him away to his safe nest."

Lestrade nodded. "The doctor talked about another man, a brother. Do you have any idea where to find him?"

Holmes stood in silence for some minutes, then assumed a worried expression.

"This is something I cannot understand. I need to think about it!" he finally answered.

They both stood in silence for the rest of the trip. They were relieved when they arrived at Holmes' home and found Mycroft and the doctor having their afternoon tea. They joined them, then the Inspector left to attend other business.

Another day had passed without problems, Watson was safe and getting better, physically and psychologically.

But Holmes knew they were going to have troubles soon. It was only a matter of time.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 6...**

**Special thanks to Sanity's-overrated for his help!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Let the children play (6)**

Virgil Kane spent two nights in the streets out in the cold and he missed his place. He wanted desperately to return to his familiar surroundings but he could not enter the building without catching the attention of the two guards that watched it.

"Your friend has gone, Virgil! He would not come back!" an angry voice hissed.

"I-it's your fault, y-you beat him…" he replied in a shaky voice.

"I beat him because he hurt you, brother. Don't forget it! I did it for you!"

"W-Why don't you leave me alone then? I don't need you!" he cried out.

"I am not leaving you and you know why. You need me to help you to come back to your place, you need someone who can take care of you!"

"How can you help me? The guards will see you, they would arrest you. No one can help me! I am alone!"

"Virgil, I have told you many times you can trust me. I am your only friend, I will not leave you, never!" the man snarled at the softly sobbing little brother.

"I want the doctor back!" Kane replied in a little childish voice.

"I know you want him, and if you want I will take him to you and I'll make sure he won't leave, this time!"

"B-But … I-I don't want you to h-hurt him…"

"Well, it is up to him. If he behaves as a good boy, I would not hurt him."

"P-Promise me… Promise me you will be kind to him!"

"I will!"

They were interrupted by the arrival of two new guards adorned in street clothes coming to relieve them of their watch. The new men began talking with one another, paying no attention to the fact that the men they were searching for were in fact watching them from a distance as they spoke. The name Sherlock Holmes was mentioned along with Baker Street, but little else was scrounged from their conversation. Virgil's brother, along with nearly ever criminal in London, was familiar with the name Sherlock Holmes, and immediately understood that the Doctor which Virgil seemed so fond of, was none other than the detective's friend and partner, Dr. John Watson.  
>Sherlock's absence could only mean one thing, that he had taken leave to return to Baker Street and tend to his friend the Doctor. Certain that after the beating and ill treatment the Doctor had endured would keep him out of action while he recuperated not only physically but mentally, an evil smirk crossed the man's face knowing now was a time for action.<p>

"Now Virgil you must listen carefully. I have a plan. But you have to listen very carefully and do exactly what I tell you, do you understand?"

"Y-yes. I-I understand."

"We will have to wait for another day, I need to arrange a few things. Then, tomorrow night, we will come to the doctor's house. I am sure he will be happy to see you!".

The evil man was already foretasting the moment of his success. He did not like the doctor, he was mad at him because if he had not shown up accidentally when the last boy he kidnapped on the streets tried to escape, he and his brother would be safe in the building and he could had indulged in his criminal activity. If Virgil was always shy and childish, afraid of hurting and to be hurt, he was exactly the opposite: he liked to read fear and submission in the eyes of people he met, that gave him a strong feeling of power and he liked the sensation. More than once, when his little brother was incapable of keeping his emotion under control and he cried out, he helped him. Virgil was actually his only blind spot, for he would had done everything for him. He was the only man he loved and he loathed when he was hurting. He was also very patient with him. He simply could not live without him.

"Look at me, brother! I need you to stay here and don't move, I will be back soon." He explained the younger man, who looked miserable.

"N-no, I-I don't w-want you to l-leave!" he pleaded.

"Virgil, you can do it. I just need a few hours then I will be back. I know you can do it. I am proud of you. Come on, sit here and don't worry!" and he directed the shivering man to a dark alley. He wanted to be sure he was alright but, above all, he needed him to stay where he was, because the guards on duty outside their building did not know they were so close and he did not want his little brother to ruin his perfect plan.

"I need you to stay right here until I come back, do you understand?" he asked him again.

The miserable man sniffed and nodded.

Once his brother had gone away, he curled in a ball on the cold floor and went asleep.

* * *

><p>The following night, two men entered the old orphanage. The short of the two men had a full beard, his hair looked unkempt, strands sticking out in different directions from lack of combing. The clothes he wore had obviously seen better days, they were frayed at the edges and marked in other places from the work he'd gotten up to. His shoes were another matter entirely, lackluster and scuffed, the splattering of mud adorning the tops. His partner, was rather taller, he had a good few inches in height but had a slender build. There was something about the man that commanded presence, but by any outside view he seemed ordinary. His dressing style was<br>neater in comparison to his companion, but not overly so, no he maintained a level of blending in as just another regular person. His grooming habits were far better, his hair neatly combed, face clean shaven, shoes immaculately polished and yet to an outsider unaware of the level of vileness lurking below he would appear as any normal upstanding citizen. They were not particularly careful because the guards on duty heard them easily and sprinted after them. Once they had been located, they had been cuffed and taken to the police office. Meanwhile, one of the officers went to Baker Street to inform the detective about the good news.

Holmes was in the sitting room with his doctor and friend, both comfortable respectively on the armchair by the fireplace and on the couch. Their day had been peaceful, Watson had read and slept while he had been busy thinking about the latest developments of the inquiry. Watson did not ask him any details and the detective did not push him, even if he missed the company of his friend while working on a case, his case actually.

When they received the visit of the officer, it was almost midnight. Watson was asleep, luckily, so he did not hear the conversation between the two men. Holmes instructed the officer to come to his brother's house to ask him if he could stay with the doctor, adding that he should come immediately. Then he went back to his friend and gently woke him.

"Watson, wake up."

"Mmm… I'm comfortable here…" he mumbled in his sleep.

"You'll sleep better in your own bed. Come on, let me help you."

"I can do it…" the doctor replied sleepily, not attempting to move, eyes still closed.

"Sure, Watson. Come on, on your feet."

Holmes half carried him to the bedroom, where he simply buried himself under the covers.

"Watson, can you open your eyes for me? Just a minute then you can go back to sleep." he asked softly.

Tired blue eyes met his gaze.

"What is it?"

"I need to go out for a while, Mycroft is coming here so you won't be alone. You'll be safe, Watson." The detective's voice did not deceive any emotion. But the sleepy man was not to easy to cheat.

"What's going on?" he asked, instantly more alert.

"Nothing to worry about. I just need to check a few things with Lestrade." He answered vaguely.

"And you cannot wait until tomorrow?"

"I am sorry, old man. I'll see you in a few hours, anyway. It won't be long. Go back to sleep now!"

"I don't like it when you treat me like a child, you know!" the doctor retorted tiredly.

Holmes sighed and absently scratched his head. He knew Watson had every right to know about his plans but he did not want to make him uncomfortable. The doctor was watching him waiting for a reply.

"My dear Watson, may I ask you to trust me this time and do what I suggest without complaining?"

"I am not complaining… well, yes, I am… but I am just concerned about you. I know I cannot give you any help, but…"

"Please, remind me, Doctor, how many times did you supported me when I was ill or injured? It was you or someone else that always told me to not worry because you were there for me and that I should hold on you?"

Watson felt his checks blushing. He knew Holmes had always had a soft spot for him.

"I can't tell you how many exactly. But I got the message. I hope you won't stay away all night, anyway."

Holmes squeezed his shoulder in reply, a intimate gesture that always gave the doctor the comfort he needed. He was about to reply, when Mycroft arrived at their door.

"I must go now, Watson. Mycroft will be in the sitting room, if you need anything. I suggest you get a good night sleep and don't worry about me."

The doctor nodded and closed his eyes. He must be really tired.

"Holmes…" he called one last time.

"I'm here!"

"Just… be careful! Remember your promise!" he breathed .

Holmes did not know if he was already asleep, but when he kissed him on his forehead the doctor smiled sleepily. For once Holmes was not afraid of displaying his emotions. He would had liked to stay with him all night, but he would had to wait for it.

He closed the door of the bedroom silently behind him and informed his brother about the arrest of two men, probably the ones that kidnapped Watson. They had been caught when they tried to enter the old orphanage.

"I want to question them personally and I want to be sure they spent the rest of their life behind bars."

"I hope you' re not alone, Sherlock, or you'll probably end up in a prison too for having killed them."

"I am sure Lestrade will think about it. Can I leave you alone? Do you have a revolver? Just in case?"

"I took my own one. I will be ready if someone shows up with bad intentions."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

* * *

><p>One and a half hour later, Mycroft heard the main door quietly opening and steps on the stairs. He looked at his watch, surprised because he thought his brother would had return only in the morning. He went to the door and carefully opened it, whispering that the doctor was asleep so not to shout.<p>

But instead of his brother he found a huge man waiting for him. He had not time to react because the man hit him hard on the head with something heavy and before he knew it he was unconscious on the floor. His last coherent thought was directed to the doctor, but he could do anything to help him. He hoped Sherlock would return soon.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 7...**

**MY FIRST IDEA WAS TO WRITE THIS AS THE FINAL CHAPTER, BUT I CHANGED MY MIND...**

**SO, I AM SORRY IF I KEEP YOU WAITING FOR SOME MORE DAYS...**

**REVIEWS ARE MOST WELCOME :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Let the children play (7)**

It took Holmes almost 30 minutes to reach the police station. Plus, when he arrived, Lestrade was not there yet and the two racketeers had been taken into another prison because of a misunderstanding of the officer who had them in custody. When the Inspector met him in his office, the detective looked disappointed, furious, almost insane; he jumped out of the chair he was sat in and assailed him with a stream of angry words hissed trough clenched teeth in a sharp tone, complaining about the ignorance of the police officers and in general about the whole attitude of Scotland Yard towards the case. Lestrade had unknowingly retreated to the wall while Holmes had grown in shape, like a cat, fury making him unreasonable and dangerous. When the inspector did not reply to the accuses the detective moved to him, he went mad and would had destroyed the whole place if two well built young officers had not restricted him. Unable to move, he glance at them with fire in his eyes. He was push down on the chair in front of the inspector's table, the two guards still at his side, ready to spring in action if he had given sign of violence again. Lestrade resumed his manner and sat in front of him.

"Mr. Holmes, I am sorry if I was late but I had to attend a few things before coming here. Now, if you think you behave yourself, I will ask the two officers to leave us, so we can start with our business. I warn you, I would not tolerate another episode of hysteria like before, am I clear?" he stated in a cold voice, clearly still in a little shock.

Holmes nodded, knowing that if he had ended up in prison himself, Watson would had been disappointed at him.

"Good. Thank you, guys, I think you should leave us alone."

Once they left the room, the Inspector informed him that the two men arrested at the old orphanage would had arrived in half an hour or less. So if he wanted to assist to the questioning, if he behaved, he was most welcomed.

To Holmes, thirty minutes seemed to last forever. He had been away from Baker Street for one hour and a half now. He wanted desperately to convince himself that the men who hurt Watson were in custody and that he was perfectly safe. But something sounded wrong: first of all, if they had kidnapped four children and the police had not found any evidence, that means they had been very careful; but they had been caught easily when trying to enter the building, the fact itself suggested him that they did not know the place very well, or they would had chosen a safer entry. And then, they could had easily hidden in the building itself and put off the scent to the officers, but they did not. It was simply too easy. The moment he finally saw the two racketeers, he knew he was right. Lestrade directed the questioning with a distraught but civilized Holmes but the answers they got from the two men were not satisfying. Although they knew many details about the kidnapping and the treatment the doctor had endured, Holmes was not convinced. He showed them the portrait of Watson he found in the orphanage and when they did not recognized the doctor he understood he had fallen in a trap. Both he and Lestrade put them under pressure so to break them and, an hour later, the confessed they had been recruited by a man who offered them a lot of money if they had tried to go in the old structure, adding that there were guards on the outside, and they had to be caught and arrested.

"So did you agree to change place with a murderer and you would had spent the rest of your life in prison for a man who promised you a lot of money. But you would had never had the possibility to see the money." The inspector asked.

The two men looked at each other with a clever grin.

"You did not found any relationship between us and the kidnapped children. Our task was just to keep you pigs busy for some hours. When you release us, we will be free to spent our well earned money!"

Holmes felt his face losing color. One of the two villain laughed at him and Lestrade had to restrict him again, for he launched himself on the man, his hands going to his neck and tried to strangle him to death.

The Inspector asked an officer to make sure the villain was still alive and took Holmes out of the room.

"We need to come back to Baker Street now, I left Watson alone with Mycroft…" the detective urged.

* * *

><p>Watson could not sleep. He dreamt about being in the dark alone, trying to call for Holmes, but he was gagged and unable to move. He must had cried out for he was woken by Sherlock's brother, who was sit on the bed next to him with a concerned expression on his face. After having assured him he was alright, he left the room. Watson was glad he had not stayed with him. He tried to distract his mind from the dark thoughts the dream had roused; he was concerned about Holmes. He blamed himself for not having been able to get involved in the inquiry, for if he had, he should had had the possibility to help his friend. Not knowing where he really was, was the worst part of it: he knew perfectly well that when the detective was on a case, he could lose his mind if someone was not with him to stop him when he could had done mistake he would had regret later. It usually was him. The doctor felt he had failed his friend.<p>

After a while, he heard Mycroft talking to someone at the door and then a thud, as if something heavy had dropped on the floor. He called Mycroft's name but he did not reply. Fearing something horrible had happened to him, he put on his dressing gown and cautiously open the door of the bedroom.

What he saw made his blood freeze in the veins. Mycroft was unconscious on the floor by the door and a huge man, dressed in dirty old clothes, torn from use, was in the sitting room; he turned his head towards him and blue eyes focused on him, while his face assumed a cruel expression; the man actually smiled to him. The doctor had never seen him before but he had a strong feeling of danger. He backed to the wall as the man started to walk towards him. When he spoke he recognized the voice of his nightmares and swallowed hard. He could not think, he could not move: all he could do was watching the villain approaching him with deliberate slowness and fearing for his life._ He's going to kill me. _

"Hello,_ Doctor_, do you remember me?"

Watson's throat was dry and he could not answer. He could feel his heart almost jumping out of his chest, his whole body shivering from fear and his legs shaking, but he someway stayed on unsteady feet with the wall supporting him, his eyes never leaving his attacker.

"I think if you are asked a question you should answer, _Doctor_!"

Again, Watson was silent.

The man took another step towards him and put dirty rough hands on his shoulders. If that was possible, the doctor's heart pounded faster, making him feel dizzy and sick.

"It's not fair. I came here to talk to you and you don't feel up to it. You know, I am very displeased. And if someone displeased me, I get angry and when I get angry…" and without warning he punched the shivering body in front of him hard on his stomach. Watson's legs gave out under him and he sagged on the floor without breath, holding his belly with both arms.

He heard the man laughing, a piercing sound that made him shiver just more. When the psycho knelt in front of him and grabbed his hair pushing his head back, so to face him, the expression the doctor read in those eyes was pure evil. He knew he was going to die. He just hoped it would had happened fast. When he saw the villain get ready to hit him again, he asked him to stop. He begged for his life. He waited for the man's next move and stilled, his breath labored and his vision blurry. He waited but no more blows went. Instead of being deathly beaten, he found himself cradled in the man's strong arms, his voice now so little and shaky he did not believed belonging to the same man.

"I am sorry, so sorry… I-I told my brother not to hurt you… b-but I just cannot stop him… I am so sorry…" he whispered between tears.

Watson was shocked by the change of the attitude of the man. But, even if in pain, and scared to death, his mind was alert and he finally understood. What he had just seen were the two faces on a very delusional man: clearly the sobbing one, that was gently rocking him now, was the good side, caring and emotional, while ha had experienced twice his bad side, cruel and violent. Even if he had no experience with such "patients", he understood that as long as the good part had the control he was safe, so he tried to talk to him.

"It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong."

The man held his breath and stilled, Watson feared he had done the wrong move, but then he felt his head resting on his shoulder and something hot wetting his dressing gown. With his right arm, he caressed the huge back and felt the body relax under his touch.

"I knew you would had taken care of me! I don't want you to go away."

Watson reassured him. "I am not going anywhere. Just relax. I'm here now!" and they stayed on the floor for what seemed ages to the doctor.

* * *

><p>When Holmes and Lestrade finally arrived to Baker Street and silently entered the sitting room, they found a pale and sweaty Watson holding in his lap a huge man, Virgil Kane, asleep. The detective silently watched his friend to know what do, while the Inspector and two officers took Mycroft out or the room. Watson mouthed the word "Sedative" and Holmes hurried to retrieve the needle and the clear liquid. He injected a high dose in the upper arm of the villain, who stirred just a little but relaxed immediately when the doctor caressed him, speaking words of comfort. That accomplished, two well built officers lifted the unconscious man from Watson's lap. Holmes knelt in front of his friend asking him if he was alright and helping him to his feet.<p>

He half carried him to the sitting room of the land lady.

"We're almost there, Watson. Don't pass out on me, please!"

The doctor did not answered, his whole body shivering against the cold coming from the open door and from exhaustion. When he saw his attacker's unresponsive body being taken away by the police officers, he stopped.

"He does need to go to the Hospital. He is not responsible for his action, Holmes. Make sure he has the attentions he needs."

The detective turned his head to see if his friend was serious when he went limp and passed out.

* * *

><p><strong>EPILOGUE<strong>

Watson and Holmes were comfortable in their sitting room, enjoying the warm of the fire. Two days had passed from the capture of the mad man. Both the doctor and Mycroft had been visited by the physician and were getting better.

"How do you feel, Watson?" the detective asked.

"Better, thank you."

"You don't understand. I mean: how do you _feel_?"

The doctor sighed and nervously shifted in the armchair.

"I guess I am feeling better. But I keep having nightmares and I have some trouble sleeping."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I mean, I know maybe I should talk about it but I… I don't know if I can right now!"

Holmes knew what his friend feared.

"You are afraid of losing control on your emotion, don't you?"

"I-I… yes, I…"

"You what?" the detective asked softly.

"I had been so selfish. I was so concentrate on myself and my physical condition that I never asked you about the children you found in the building. Are they alright?"

"Yes, they are perfectly fine. All considering, they had been lucky for they had been accommodated in the orphanage. At least, they are not in the streets anymore."

"Good. Do you think we can do something for them?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we could just give the orphanage some money when we can, so to help them all. I think growing up in a orphanage is very sad."

Holmes felt relieved to hear his mate speaking again. He had been very silent since he had taken him home, one week ago. Now that they had open a breach in the banks of unsaid feeling, Holmes was sure Watson would had been alright, with his help. It would had taken him a while, but his compassionate spirit was back already. He thanked God for his fortune and played his violin for him.

**THE END**

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><p><strong>REVIEWS ARE MOST WELCOME.<strong>

**I HOPE YOU HAD FUN (DESPITE THE SUBJECT) LIKE I HAD IN WRITING IT.**


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